


Single And Ready To Pringle

by Ozzer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Lots of Pringles, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, Pringles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-02 00:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6543685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozzer/pseuds/Ozzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Staying over with Remus for the holidays, the Marauders discover a delightful muggle snack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Toast Troubles

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when one eats too many Pringles and has a Harry Potter marathon concurrently. Please don't judge us. In fact, do judge us. Leave a review and let us know your Pringle adventures and hijinks!
> 
>  
> 
> (And if Pringles does fancy sponsoring us or sending us some free samples after this then hey, we're not gonna object!)
> 
>  
> 
> …but not ready salted…

The toast hit the floor with a moist 'thhp' noise in a manner that was not nearly as exciting as the occupants of the kitchen had expected. And there did it remain. Much to the ire of one Remus Lupin who had been interrupted from setting the table for breakfast by the sound of shenanigans. It would not have been such a bother had his three friends not already managed to erode their way through two thirds of a loaf just this morning alone. Or if they had bothered to pick up said two thirds of a loaf from the kitchen tiles.

  


"Well. I think we can conclude that, in light of recent evidence, muggle toast (that is to say, toast derived from that strange contraption on the counter over there) is, in fact, prone – almost on every occasion – to land butter-side down," James summarised with a lopsided grin, sliding a slice across the floor with his borrowed-slipper-clad foot. 

  


"I think you're right, Prongs," Sirius agreed easily, slumping down onto one of the chairs, the wood screeching on the tiles. "But - do you suppose it would work equally well spread with that low fat crap that Moony's mum loves so much?"

  


"Or what about jam?" the final member of the group piped up, gnawing on one of the surviving slices.

  


"Shut up, Wormtail!" Both James and Sirius chorused, as the former inserted another round of bread into the toaster, looking immensely pleased with himself that he'd finally got the hang of it. 

  


"Aw – what do ya think'd happen if we spread it on both sides?" 

  


"Yeah! And we could even put it around all the crusts and—" Remus slammed his now regrettably empty coffee mug down on the table with a tired sigh and a half-arsed glare directed at Sirius – it was far too early to be dealing with his friends' 'experiments' and there wasn't enough caffeine in Britain. "Here's a crazy idea, why not try eating some of the toast? Or at least picking some of it up off the floor." 

  


"Oh, urm, yeah, yeah Peter'll do it in a minute we'll just… Hey, what's this?" James, who had been ferreting through the cereal cupboard, pulled several cardboard cylinders out, looking at them in reverence. "You know Moony, you should probably hold an intervention for your mum if she's taken to keeping hard liquor in the breakfast cupboard." 

  


"What? Prongs, I hardly expect that my mum's keeping alco – oh for—James, those are Pringles, not whisky." 

  


"What's that there, Padfoot? Moony's mum having problems with the old drink abuse? Merlin, Remus, she's probably just missing you – you know, you should write home more often." Sirius placed a 'comforting' hand on his friend's shoulder. Remus quickly shoved him off, sending a scathing glare at the pair of them though there was no real heat to it and was soon replaced by a resigned grimace. 

  


"It's okay, Moony: I caught my mum pouring port on her shredded wheat the other week so I know what you're going through," Peter added solemnly, picking his way through the various buttered toast splats on the floor to join his friends at the table.

  


"Bloody Hell, you lot, my mum is not an alcoholic! Look, they're crisps, alright?" Standing abruptly, Remus fetched a bowl from the cupboard and proceeded to empty the contents of one of the tubes into it before thrusting it onto the table before a curious Peter, a suspicious Sirius and a cynical James who had made his way over to the others by this point, pulling up a chair.

  


"So… Not whisky?" Sirius prodded one with a scowl. Remus chuckled at that and, deciding to lead by example, picked up a couple and placed them in his mouth to resemble a beak and made brief quacking noises. He then ate them hastily sliding the bowl towards his friends. 

  


Sirius made the first move, tentatively plucking a pair of the crisps from the bowl and following suit and James, not to be outdone, quickly did the same though with much more gusto and buoyancy. Peter, glancing sideways at James copied the action, not wanting to be left out making a rather convincing duck noise causing Prongs and Padfoot to glare at the other boy. 

  


Ten minutes time saw three empty tubes to join the toast graveyard that was the floor and four distinctly greasy teenagers sat slumped and happy at the kitchen table.

  


"Remus, my Remus, where did you get this divine ambrosia? We need to stockpile 'em and take 'em back with us in September!" Sirius proclaimed, bringing a tube up to his eye to double check that it really was empty. 

  


"Well most muggle supermarkets will sell them and I've got a few pounds on me if you fancied going today?" Remus suggested. 

  


"Yeah, good idea!" said James, "Wormtail, you've a muggle parent, right? You'll have plenty of muggle money for us to spend!" 

  


"How soon can we go?" asked Sirius, rising from his chair and brushing the crumbs off himself and onto the abused floor.

  


"As soon as my kitchen is back to how you found it," Remus clipped wryly, sighing at length. 

  


"I'd love to help you chaps out there, but look; I can't!" James shook his head ruefully holding up his tube-clad hands, "Practically disabled at this point so that means I don't have to do any chores or cleaning up or stuff."

  


Sirius grinned and Remus rolled his eyes while Peter was left to pick the toast up off the floor, wondering if it would still be good to eat anymore due to the fact that most of them were actually butter-side down.


	2. Pringle Palaver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're baa-aack! So here's the second part of the story just for you. (Well, it's actually for everyone but, meh, you know what I mean.) This is just going to be a two-shot fic but there's an idea that's been buzzing around for a year or two so you just never know!
> 
> On another, sadder note we've had no word from Kelloggs and I'm very disappointed by this; I really had hoped to be the new face of Pringles by now plus a lifetime supply of the stuff really does sound like a pretty good deal. Well I suppose one must remained ever hopeful!
> 
> But back to the story: read on, dear readers, read on!

Mrs Janet Donovan was determined that her dinner party would be better than that horrid Cynthia March's and so that afternoon she went down to the local Sainsbury's in order to pick up some last minute ingredients and try to calm her nerves a bit by getting out of the house. All chances of this happening were suddenly and loudly extinguished as a clattering trolley hurtled down the aisle complete with its cargo of one James Potter with Sirius Black in hot pursuit having lost his grip on the handles.

Diving out of the way in order to avoid grievous bodily harm, Mrs Donovan slipped on a packet of bruschetta and landed awkwardly amongst the smoked salmon and asparagus as another two boys – one with an obvious stitch and the other with a look of abject horror – came barrelling past. Nursing what felt like a broken arm, it became apparent to Mrs Donovan that there was to be no dinner party that evening, successful or otherwise.

The trolley continued on its rampage, occupant whooping in excitement, and came at last to rest upon its side upon a bed of disturbed pastries. James pulled himself out from the carnage, brushing flakes of croissant off his muggle jacket as Sirius trotted up, laughing. He placed a hand on James' shoulder and they shared a mischievous grin which fell slowly from their faces as the pair turned to face the aisle they had just sped down.

"Ah…Prongs old friend…I don't think Moony's going to be overly pleased with all this, do you?"

Two and a half hours, one serious talk with the police and one consequent chase through the streets when the group realised that a simple phone call to their parents was not going to be a way out, the Marauders stood in front of a corner newsagents on the other side of the town.

"Now," Started Remus sternly, "You three are staying outside this time. Do not move from this place, do not talk to any strangers and do not, in any way, attempt to have fun."

"Oh, come on Moony, it's not as if we really caused any –"

But Remus had already walked into the shop. Peter turned to face the other two.

"In fairness, that woman did have to get taken away by the muggle healers, and those poor people have to take a lot more time cleaning up than we do."

"Oh, stop being such a wet blanket Wormtail – she probably needed something to make her life more exciting anyway, did you see that cardigan? Her pulse probably hadn't exceeded 60 a minute since the '60s."

"Yeah, Padfoot's got a point, I mean, did you see some of the people in that shop? All stuffy old muggles, nothing happening to them at all."

At that point Remus came out again, clutching four carrier bags filled with coloured tubes and handing one to each of his friends.

"This was all they had…if we want more then we'll have to look in the next shop."

"Will we have to carry those as well?" Peter enquired, popping open a can and inserting the first two crisps between his lips and making a business-like 'quack-quack' before cramming them down.

"…..Yes, Peter…." Remus noted his other companions lack of response to this action and smiled inwardly to himself, deciding that it made for his better personal amusement not to inform them that this stage was neither necessary nor normal.

"Nah. These'll do."

By the time the new school year rolled around, the Marauders had personally polished off seven corner shops' and newsagents' Pringle supplies and their trunks were mostly full of as many flavours of the crisp as they could fit in around the other non-essentials like clothes and books.

Of course, this new found delicacy was not to be shared with just anybody what with supplies being limited as they were. Therefore suitable means had to be employed to smuggle the crisps between the dormitory and their destination – be this in the Shrieking Shack, an empty Transfiguration classroom or their favourite spot on the shores of the Black Lake.

And for most of the first term, this worked just fine and the group enjoyed their Pringles unhindered and uninterrupted by the rest of the school. However all good things must come to an end and it was late one afternoon in November when their underground Pringle smuggle ring was to be cracked wide open.

The Marauders had just commenced their own personal advent which, as tradition dictated, started halfway through November in order to allow sufficient time to thoroughly wring the yule tide dry. Provisions for the mid-afternoon feast complete with picnic basket and rug had been squirreled into an empty Charms classroom.

Halfway through the second course – having started with a 'prawn cocktail' and now moving on to a ' sizzling BBQ' – their merriment was interrupted by the door to the classroom creaking open to reveal the smug, leering face of Argus Filch, followed by the smaller figure of Filius Flitwick.

"I told you, Professor, I told you this lot were out of bounds! Detention for a month, I should think – sneaking food out of the kitchens, trespassing where they don't belong, inappropriate style of eating for the weather and location and—"

"Yes, thank you Argus, I think I can take it from here…" Flitwick peered around the caretaker at the Gryffindors, more than one of whom appeared to have grown some sort of beak-like protrusion from their mouths.

"No really, Sir, we can explain – these aren't from the kitchens. You see, we brought them from home: they're Pringles—"

"Pringle's?!" Filch sneered with an ugly scowl, "Are you having a laugh, boy?! Making a joke at my predecessor's expense are we?"

"No, we're… What?" The Marauders exchanged confused looks before peering up at Filch again.

"You ought to learn some respect! Why if I could have it my way, you'd all be strung up by your—"

"Yes, thank you, Argus I think I can take it from here," Flitwick dismissed the caretaker who reluctantly skulked off, grumbling to himself under his breath. The Charms professor turned back to the four boys, hands on hips. "Look, I know you aren't breaking any real rules, as such, but you must see that it just really doesn't do to be practising human Transfiguration in a room you really oughtn't to be at a time when you would be better off studying…"

"Transfigur…" Remus coined on and had to muffle a snigger behind his hand, disguised as an awkward cough, "Oh no, Sir, they're just a muggle crisp: see?"

"Here, Sir!" James, being the suave, smooth talker he was, proffered a bowl towards the now flustered professor, "Why not try some? Here, you'll love 'em!" He held a fresh tube towards Flitwick with one hand and plucked two crisps from it with the other. 'See, you do like this!" He demonstrated the correct method, quacking in as polite and submissive a tone as he knew how to.

"Oh, uhm.." Filus picked up a pair of the Pringles fumblingly and placed them in his mouth, quacking sheepishly as the Marauders nodded in encouragement, Remus hiding his face in his hands, practically in tears. "I say boys, where do you get these from? They really are quite delicious!"

Sirius, knowing an opportunity when one knocked put on his best negotiation face and cleared his throat delicately, "Well, Professor, you see with our resources we have the means to procure such snacks, though there wouldn't be all that much point in us buying new stocks if we didn't have somewhere to eat them… Perhaps an empty classroom…?"

Catching on, James finished shoving the next pair down his throat and added helpfully. "Yes, our good friend Moo – Remus Lupin here is of muggle heritage, and so has the means to gather ample stocks at the beginning of each term…of course though, since we may not be able to enjoy them in peace any more…"

"Say not more, Potter," Filius squeaked, nodding enthusiastically, "My classroom is all yours for whenever you need it if you could, perhaps, procure me a tube or two each term…"

Offering a tube in his left hand and his right for a handshake, James grinned easily, shaking the Professor's hand. "You've got yourself a deal, Sir!"

Years onward, and Remus Lupin had come to teach at Hogwarts. He built friendships quickly with the rest of the staff, building upon the good relationships he had forged as a student. With Filius Flitwick in particular there seemed an immediate link; the two greeted each other with a wry smile and apparent exchange of gifts at the start of term and regularly spent evenings together talking in Filius' classroom.

One evening in late Autumn, Minerva was bustling around trying to begin the yuletide preparations. As she passed the charms classroom saw that the door was ajar and thought it a good idea to stop for a moment to discuss this year's collaborations for the great hall decorations with Filius while she was there.

Leaning in to knock, she stopped her knuckles just shy of the door when she heard a high-pitched quacking sound, and smiled, trying as was her habit to guess what interesting spellwork might be going on beyond, before rapping on the wood.

Hearing no answer, she coughed and peered her head around the door, the amiable curiosity on her face turning to worry and consternation as she beheld her friend and colleague sat at his desk, left hand embedded in a garishly coloured tube whilst the other held in place two identical, yellow-ish objects, dished in the middle and bent in opposite directions to form the shape of a crude beak. It was from this beak that the quacking issued as Minerva's eyebrows travelled further up her forehead, reaching maximum altitude as Flitwick proceeded to ingest the yellow objects.

"Filius, what in Merlin's name are you doing?"

"What?! Oh, I see, Minerva, now, I have something here that you really must try…a muggle delicacy as I understand it; come, there're plenty to share."

The next two months drew on, and Christmas came about. By the time that all the staff present in the holidays sat at the head table on Christmas Eve, word of the new muggle cuisine had spread throughout the faculty, and supplies enough for all had been brought in.

As the few students remaining in the school seated themselves in the great hall and bowls of small pies, breads and fruits appeared upon the long tables, it was to a chorus of merry quacking and crunching from the head table that they were greeted.

One Severus Snape, alone it seemed in his reluctance to partake in this spectacle, raised a sardonic eyebrow at his colleagues' new habit and, as he did so, caught the eye of Professor Lupin, sat three seats away. His mouth was covered by an elaborate napkin and tears seemed to be streaming down his cheeks as he attempted to supress what appeared to be a rather extreme bout of the giggles. Severus was frankly, not surprised that the Marauder was behind this particular state of affairs and was only mildly taken aback by sidelong wink he received from the other man.

Personally, he preferred onion rings…


End file.
